


Unbreakable

by SolarMorrigan



Series: Those 100 [5]
Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Blood, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What should have been a simple job has unexpectedly serious consequences, and isn't it just like Peter to get the brunt of it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbreakable

It had all happened so quickly, as such things often do.  Not that there was really a lot of precedent for their particular situation.  But where the phrase “such things” represents disastrous events that seem to turn one’s life on its ear, then yes, they often seem to happen quickly.

They had been warned, of course, that the specter they were hunting was “lightning-quick and packing claws that’d make a grizzly whimper,” to quote the worksite foreman.  And yet it was somehow completely unexpected when the class 5 apparition slithered out from behind a beam and swiped at Peter with what could only loosely be termed as “claws.”  The four razor protrusions adorning each hand were no less than eight inches in length and it was only Peter’s reflexes that saved his internal organs from becoming mince.

That wasn’t to say that he had completely evaded disaster.  “Peter!” Egon’s voice tore from his throat before even he fully realized what had happened.

What he did know was that the five had scored a hit on Peter, who had been bringing up the rear, and the brunet was now lying several feet away, unmoving.  Winston, ever level-headed in an emergency, was the first to do something useful.  “Grab it!” He shouted, gunning his proton thrower and hitting the wraith with pointed accuracy.

Ray’s stream joined his in short order, causing the ghost to screech angrily over the zap-crackle of the proton beams.  It struggled, fought for all it was worth, but it was more than held down by the two experienced busters, and Egon was tossing the trap out below it before the order could fully form on Winston’s lips.  He watched with dazed satisfaction as the ghost stretched thin and was sucked down into the trapezoid of light.

The trap snapped shut with an anticlimactic click, the indicator light proving the five was now effectively detained.  The three remaining men paid it no mind, however, as they rushed towards their fallen member.  Egon was on his knees beside the psychologist in the half the time it took Winston and Ray to get there, concern plain on his long face.

It wasn’t as though they didn’t get knocked around on busts—and Egon wasn’t going to pretend Peter wasn’t on the receiving end of a lot of the knocking—but there was being the recipient of a very thorough sliming, and there was being slashed at by the owner of talons the size of kitchen knives.  “Peter?” Egon placed his hand on the side of Peter’s face, aware immediately that the brunet was awake.

His face was screwed up in pain as he clutched desperately at the front of his uniform, already soaked with an alarming amount of blood (not that any amount wasn’t alarming).  He inhaled noisily, sucking wind as though he’d been holding his breath, and hissed, “God, that fucking hurts.”

Egon took in what he could of the damage; four diagonal slashes ran from the lower left portion of Peter’s ribs all the way to his right collar bone.  It was hard to tell how deep they were, sight obscured by blood and ripped fabric, and Egon wasn’t sure he wanted to know right now.  “C’mon, let’s get him to Ecto,” Winston said.

The physicist didn’t even remember Winston kneeling down on Peter’s other side, but his suggestion made a lot of sense.  Egon and Winston managed to bundle Peter into the back seat of their signature vehicle on double time, Ray following behind with the trap and Peter’s discarded pack, before taking off for the nearest emergency room.

Winston drove, as well as one could in New York traffic, while Ray occupied the passenger seat.  It had been a reluctant choice on his part, but Peter was stretched out across the bench seat in the back and Egon was taking up the floor, digging around for a suitable compress, leaving no room for Ray to fuss.

Egon finally retrieved a spare uniform and folded it into a haphazard rectangle before pressing it over as much of the wound as he could.  Peter groaned.  “When I told you I can take it rough, Spengs, this isn’t what I meant.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

“Indeed?” Egon replied, playing along for Peter’s sake, and maybe for his own as well, “And here I thought we were engaging in some complicated round of foreplay.”

Peter snorted with laughter, then hissed and paled as the motion pulled at the gashes in his front.  Egon frowned and splayed his fingers as wide as he could, attempting to apply pressure wherever possible.  Large though his hands were, a fact that Peter regularly joked about, the blond couldn’t seem to cover enough area to staunch the bleeding.  Finally, he released the uniform and tugged gently, impatiently at Peter’s shoulders.  “Peter, sit up.”

“What?” Shock was setting in; there was a dazed quality to his voice, a glaze over his eyes and a sheen of sweat coating waxen skin.

“Peter, sit forward, _now_.” Egon demanded, aiding the brunet by pulling him in the right direction.

Peter made a pained noise in the back of his throat, but Egon was already slipping onto the seat behind him, practically under him, and wrapping his arms around his injured torso.  “Now really the time for cuddling, Spengs?” Peter mumbled, even as his eyes began to drift shut.

“Peter, do not close your eyes!” Egon demanded, cinching his arms tightly against his makeshift compress.

“What the- Jesus, ‘gon,” Peter gasped, his eyes snapping open, “Hurts like a _bitch_.”

“I am attempting to keep pressure over your wounds.  I’m afraid it’s going to hurt.” Egon could feel the body in his arms shivering in earnest, reacting to the loss of blood, and cursed quietly. “Winston?”

The driver didn’t turn at Egon’s voice, not daring tear his eyes from the road at the speed they were going.  Ray answered for him, uncertain if Winston had even heard.  “We’re ten minutes out, guys, just hold on.” He said, uncharacteristically grave as he glanced anxiously from the road to the back seat.

Egon gave no response, instead shifting his arms against Peter when his eyes began to slide shut once more.  “I said, do not close your eyes.”

Glassy green eyes snapped back open, glaring up Egon.  “’m not allowed to blink?”

“You are either the world’s slowest blinker, or you were…” Egon didn’t finish the thought. “Try to stay awake.”

“’s hard.” Peter mumbled, turning his head to look at Egon as best he could while laying back on the other man’s chest.

“Try harder.” Egon told him firmly, readjusting his grip before continuing softly, “Please.  I refuse to lose you Peter, please stay awake.”

“N’t gonna lose me.  Won’ leave you,” Peter slurred over some of his words, but his message came through, “You ‘n me?  Wh’t we have’s unbreakable, ‘gon.”

The inevitable lowering of his eyelids came again, and the last thing Peter heard as he drifted into the dark bliss of unconsciousness was Egon’s strained baritone, begging him to open his eyes again.


End file.
